A Good Shepherd

I was in grade school. We were at Greenfield Village in Dearborn, Michigan. Greenfield Village has a working farm. We saw the sheep. We had an idea. What if we slid the barn door open? What if we let the sheep out? We pictured the chaos and relished it. We imagined the girls running in terror. We opened the door. The sheep fled from the light and huddled in the dark corner. We got in trouble. There was no chaos. Stupid sheep. Stupid city boys. 

I clipped it from the newspaper when I read it. It was 2005. The story came from Turkey. The sheep were on a cliff. One ran off. Then another. Then, all the rest. The article reports, “More than 400 sheep died in the 15-metre fall—their bodies cushioning the fall of 1,100 others who followed.” I still laugh imagining it. I clearly have a poorly formed sense of humor. This was no laughing matter for the shepherds. The article explains that “the sheep were worth around £42,000 in all.” This was a huge loss.  

Sheep were a big deal in the ancient world and still are in many places. They were an investment. But unfortunately, sheep are dumb, fluffy, and delicious. They make easy prey. And so if you were going to have sheep, you needed to have a shepherd, and if you didn’t want to tend them yourself, you needed to hire someone. You get what you pay for, though. 

In high school, I worked at a Burger King. We had a stretch where we kept getting robbed. One day, we had a meeting. One of the managers talked about ways to avoid handing over all the money. I assured him that I would not only hand over all the money but I would make someone with a gun as many Whoppers as they wanted. I was earning minimum wage, $4.25 an hour. I wasn’t willing to die for the Burger King’s treasure.

Many shepherds were hirelings. When the wolves came, they bailed. They weren’t getting paid enough to get killed. They left the sheep to fend for themselves, which sheep aren’t built to do. This was the risk with hirelings. 

But God didn’t entrust his sheep to hirelings. God entrusted his sheep to his Son, and the Good Shepherd doesn’t leave the sheep to fend for themselves. The Good Shepherd puts himself between the wolves and the flock. The Good Shepherd would rather give his life than lose even one little lamb. The Good Shepherd loves his sheep. They are priceless in his sight. 

This text is an Easter text. The Good Shepherd gives his life for his sheep, but he doesn’t only do that. The Good Shepherd rises for them, too. He gives his life of his own accord, but he also takes it back up again. He doesn’t leave them without a shepherd. He lives and reigns eternally to guide and guard and feed them. 

Sheep are dumb, fluffy, and delicious. They make easy prey. But there is one thing sheep do well, and Jesus tells us what that is right before this passage. Sheep listen. Sheep know their shepherd’s voice.

I was once invited to a conference in Croatia. It just so happens that one of my best friends has family from Croatia. He was interested in coming along. We went early and saw some of the country and went to the little village on an island where his family was from. We got to have dinner with his cousin and her family. At dinner, they talked about having sheep. I saw no sheep. I asked where they were. They said they were out and about on the hills. There hadn’t been wolves on the island in a long time, they explained. I asked how they kept track of them. They explained that the sheep come when called. My kids didn’t even do that reliably, so I was impressed. Those sheep knew their shepherd’s voice. 

We are Christ’s sheep. We make easy prey. But we have ears, and we have a Shepherd, and he has died and risen for us; so much does he love us. He has died and risen and is now seated at the right hand of the Father to guide and guard and feed us. Listen to him. Learn his voice. Stick with his flock. The hymn writer put it well, and we do well to sing along: “The King of love my shepherd is, whose goodness fails me never; I nothing lack if I am his, and he is mine forever.” [1]